


A Bark With a Bow

by beekeepercain



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Brotherly Love, Christmas, Dogs, Fluff, Gen, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-09-11 15:03:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8991019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beekeepercain/pseuds/beekeepercain
Summary: BSGC Christmas exchange fic for samsexualdeancurious. Hope you like it!





	

**Author's Note:**

> What present would fit Sam the most in the midst of December? Something fluffy and warm, perhaps.

* * *

 

The motel bed barely fits the two of them, but Sam doesn't really mind. He's curled up underneath his blanket - the extra they at least received with the room - and watching the search window on the laptop's screen with Dean. He's smiling absently, but it's a good moment for them. The case is over, and while he's somewhat bruised and his body aches from yesterday's fight, he's safe now, and Dean's there with him just as safe, leaning to a pile of pillows both from the motel and the Impala. They carry spares around mostly for sleeping inside the car, but with first snow falling outside to mark the transformation of fall to winter, it just felt right to bring them all inside. Build a nest, so to speak, on the double they've barely more than napped in - that is, of course, until last night. And now in the morning, it all feels... serene. Comfortable.

Homely.

Sam yawns - he can't stop it. While the browser refreshes, Dean eyes him examiningly before chuckling a little and smiling.

"Didn't you get enough rest last night? You slept like ten hours," he points out teasingly.

Sam elbows him on the arm.  
"Shut up," he chuckles.

A page appears on the screen.

"What did you want me here for, anyway?" he asks then.

Dean hesitates.  
"I thought - maybe - Sam, look, it's kinda complicated. I've never really had a talk like this with you, or anyone, ever, but it's - I mean, I think, think we need to do this."

Quietly, Sam props himself up, leaning to his arm. He's breathing a little funny now, not sure what to expect, and anxiety packs up in his chest until he feels electrified and all he can do is nod stiffly.  
"Alright?"

"Don't - don't look like that, man. It's nothing serious. Or I... don't know, maybe it is. But let me explain. Give me a chance here, okay?"

Quietly, despite the tension in him, Sam lets a warm smile break through and he forces himself to breathe out slowly to calm down. Of course he'll let Dean try.

"Things have been rough," the older brother starts, "Since - well, ever since you got out of the cage."

A shudder rushes through Sam's body. He doesn't want to think about it and unexpectly like that, even just the mention of it makes him remember things that make him freeze. He pulls up his arm and runs his thumb over his palm, stuck somewhere in a zone between the flashbacks and this moment, and Dean grimaces, turning away for a little. He pokes at the laptop's mousepad and scrolls up and down aimlessly for stimulation to distract himself even just a little bit.

"So..." he picks up again, "So - Sam, I've been thinking."

"What?"

"I do think sometimes, you know," Dean grunts, trying to lighten the mood, but while Sam appreciates it, he can't really feel it, "and... well... what if we - what if we lay low for a bit? I'm not saying we quit. You know I can't do that and I don't think you want it either, at least - anyway, it's - I thought we could, you know, take a few less cases, start networking instead and give them out to other people more. Work with Garth, Jody, people we can trust."

"Why?" Sam asks, "Because of me? You think I can't do the job, or that - that you can't trust me?"

"Shit," Dean mutters, turning his face down, "That's what it sounded like, didn't it. I - no, Sam, look. Listen. That's not what I mean."

Sam grits his teeth.  
"Then what?"

"I want us to heal. Us both. You, me, we've both got our load. And it's - it's heavy, man, it's - you have nightmares constantly. I have nightmares every night, or at least every night I have any dreams at all. But with you, you know I - I worry about you a lot more than I worry about myself. Not because you're weak. Not because you can't take it, or because I don't trust you, or because I don't trust you to handle your own load. That's not it. It's that I care about you, Sam, I - I do, I - well, you know me. And I'm not talking forever. I'm talking, what, cutting off a few cases here and there for starters, just a couple. Taking time for _us_ between there. You and me alone, and you and me together."

He's still scrolling the page, and Sam tries not to argue, tries not to take offense. It's hard. All over again, this feels like Dean not trusting him - despite saying what he's saying. But the words do help, and he tries to believe them, even if they hit very close to the parts in him that _hurt_ , hurt so much more than the parts of him that are bruised or cut.

Slowly, he lowers himself back onto the bed, sighing.

"Okay. I'm listening," he promises.

"I know you sometimes... you've got it bad, sometimes, with being - I - fuck, Sam, I have to be rough here. I'm sorry that I can't sugarcoat this, but you get jumpy. You get scared and you get scary. Not knowing what's real and what's not, even if you're better ever since Cas handled that, but you still got it, it's still lurking inside there somewhere, that what if this _isn't_ what it looks like."

Swallowing, Sam looks down. He can't look at Dean. All this time, somehow, he's hoped that it isn't obvious - that he's functioning enough to at least appear normal. But not enough to fool Dean; hell, maybe not anyone. He's a mess, and he knows it well.

Suddenly, Dean's fingers are there, lifting his chin. He's smiling, even though his eyes are scared and uncertain, and he tilts his head towards the screen.

"So I thought we'd put together our cash and whatever," he says in a much gentler voice, tempting Sam to get back on the same wavelength with him, "and buy you a Christmas present. Together."

"Huh? Christmas isn't in months."

"Technically, it's next month. But that's not the point. Sam, I need you to work with me here. Take a look at this list with me and tell me, which girl or guy you'd like to work with the most. Who's the one you wanna go out and meet."

For a second, Sam thinks it's about prostitutes, that Dean's setting him up for some sex therapy or something else extremely Dean-like - to think that having sex would fix _anything_ for him - but when he looks at the screen, already with a closed-off expression on his face, ready to explain to Dean just _how_ that plan won't work, it's not a page for sex workers.

It's not a page for people at all.

"Dogs?" Sam mouths, leaning forwards.  
He turns the screen more towards himself, his shoulder and arm brushing up against Dean.

Dean, with Sam barely noticing it, brings his arm loosely around Sam's shoulders.  
"Not just any dogs," Dean promises him, "But certified, trained therapy dogs, Sam. For people who don't always know what to trust, or who to trust. These guys know what's real, Sammy. Maybe better than I do. And they know, something that I really don't know even if I should, they know how to make it better. How to calm you down, how to bring you back here."

"They're - Dean, this is expensive. And where would we put the dog when we hunt?"

"In the Impala? Take motels that accept pets. Sleep in the car. Sam, remember what I just said about hunting? We're taking a sick leave, anyway. Cutting the workload. More time at home, less time out here worrying about where the dog will sleep. Worst case, we sneak the dog in. And besides, you need that thing, it's certified, they can't deny you taking it anywhere. By _law_ , Sammy, you can bring it in a five-star restaurant if you ever want to, or win the freaking lottery to afford it."

Sam finds himself grinning. He looks at Dean, wide-eyed, suspicious; he can't really be serious about this. However, Dean's expression says the opposite - he looks completely genuine.

"How would we afford it?" Sam asks again.

"As I said, we buy it together. And I've got something saved up," Dean admits, "I've been - well, maybe I've been planning this. Now we just need to pick the right pup for you. I asked for recommendations for someone like you, and, well, this is the list they got back to me with. So we'll make a list of a few dogs and go visit them. Then you'll make your choice, and we'll have it home - for Christmas."

 

* * *

 

A month later, Sam admits he's a bit shaky. Dean's out there, and it's blizzarding; the roads are bad, but it's not a long drive to the meet-up place. He insisted that Sam stayed there, that it'll be a surprise even if Sam knows exactly what he's bringing back for him. The scent of their home-made Christmas dinner lingers in the air, and just like Sam's present, this one's from Dean. His own present for his brother seems ridiculously small on the scale, but at least he's tried: he learned to knit just to get that damn scarf done for the guy. It's not perfect, but he doubts Dean will ever know the difference.

Finally, the door creaks. Sam's eyes dart to the upper level, to the doorway, and soon, he can hear them coming: Dean's talking to the dog, and Sam can hear its paws pitterpattering all over the stone floors, blunt nails tapping at the surface with each step. His breath hitches and he swallows thickly, and for the first time since he was a small child, he suddenly feels excited and nervous for Christmas. This is his present: one that he's wanted since he was a little boy. Sure, the dog's got a purpose now - Dean made his case for it, and if his word hadn't been enough, the people who helped them choose the dog in the end really sold Sam to the idea. But it's still a dog, and Sam's always, always wanted one; a soft companion to take with him on his early morning jogs, a warm bundle to rest at the foot end of his bed, a loyal friend who'll love him and accept his love in return with no questions asked. Really, what Dean's leading in - it's his new friend, his companion. And Dean's, too, in a way - they'll be sharing the same home, after all, and based on the way the man's talking to the dog now as they walk towards Sam, still hidden by the corridor above, they'll get along just fine.

Sam can't hold back. He hops up the stairs and sets to meet them by the doorway, and once Dean appears behind a corner, he's grinning, holding up the leash.

At the end of it is a black, white and orange shepherd dog with a large pink bow tied to her collar: her name was Jessie when they chose her, and it's Jessie now, too. Sam chose to keep it, although he'd rather tuck away his reasoning for it somewhere deep inside his subconscious and lock it inside forever.

"Wanna say hi to your new friend, Jessie?" Dean asks the dog, and now Sam's really shaking.

He comes down to his knees, somehow used to animals being wary of his size, but Jessie doesn't mind. Politely, the dog walks up to him, tail wagging in a curious manner, and she sniffs him all over until she's satisfied they've already met, and she licks him on the face, gives him a more eager wag or two, before circling him happily. Sam's got his fingers in her long coat, scritching her, petting her, patting her, tracing her soft warmth with his palms, combing through her hair, rubbing her ears gently, and everything about her is perfect: she's sweet and beautiful, and she's gentle, careful and seems to read him like an open book. From the front, Dean watches them together and smiles.

"Hey, I hate to cut off that bonding or whatever you two have going on," he laughs warmly, "but the dinner's going cold, so - bring her in and we'll get this party started, right?"

Sam looks at him, beaming.  
"Alright," he promises, and down the stairs they go.

They eat together, chattering loudly and laughing louder, and Jessie's looking around the room sniffing everything: she seems very interested in the old books in the shelves, and Dean immediately points it out as proof that the two of them were meant to be. Sam's gaze follows her around, and the sound of her paws all over their floors just seems to fit perfectly, like she's the missing piece their little dysfunctional family has been looking for this whole time. In the end, it's time for presents - or more precisely, for Sam's present to Dean.

It's soft, long, thick and green, and Dean wraps it around his neck not even knowing that it's knit by his brother: it's a bomb that Sam's not quite ready to drop yet, but one that he'll hand to Dean sometime soon anyway. Right now, he's too happy to bear the teasing, and together, all three of them relocate to Sam's bedroom; there's still a ton of movies to watch tonight, and a lot of leftovers to eat. Jessie curls up over Sam's lap and even Dean ends up petting her as they watch Netflix together - she seems content there, if not quite used to her new home just yet.

And for them all, tomorrow will be a little different, and perhaps a little better, than it's ever been before.

 


End file.
